Fuck, Marry, Avada
by liliansilver
Summary: Some years after the war, the gang meets up at the Leaky to play a silly game, with very real consequences.


"Granger, you're up!" Blaise shouted.

The Leaky was packed, but the group of Junior Aurors and their friends had snagged a table early and were taking up quite a lot of space.

"Zabini, when did you become the leader of this game? It was Neville's idea in the first place," said Hermione.

Before Neville could respond, Blaise put a hand over his mouth and said, "That's true. However, he's asked me to take over due to his excessive embarrassment over admitting he'd marry Parkinson."

Neville shouted something into Blaise's hand, struggling to free himself while his captor grinned broadly.

Across the table, Pansy Parkinson blushed and took a deep sip of her Butterbeer.

Hermione scoffed, slamming her own glass down. "Fine, I'll go," she said, clasping her hands in front of her and scanning the table.

Starting on her left, there was Harry And Ginny, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Theo Nott, Pansy, Goyle, Luna, Malfoy, Tracey Davis, Hannah Abbott, Anthony Goldstein, and Ron sitting directly to her right. She turned to him first.

"I'm not including you in this list; I'll just say that up front."

"Why not?!" he cried.

"Because it would be far too predictable, and I'm sick of people thinking I'm so easy to read. I'm not."

In truth, she was. Whatever might go on in Hermione Granger's head, the wider wizarding world was none the wiser. She seemed as cookie cutter as the next witch. More so, even, due to her do-gooder reputation and the countless charities she supported with her Auror earnings and fundraisers.

The only shocking thing she'd done was to _**not**_ marry Ron Weasley, which, had been more of a career move than anything else. She simply didn't have time for a marriage and children. At least, that was her excuse.

Ron scoffed loudly at her pronouncement, while others around the table had a mixture of reactions. Pansy rolled her eyes, which was ironically, extremely predictable.

Seamus, Dean, and Anthony had all leaned in hungrily, while others had chuckled to themselves or else had not been listening. This was especially true of Malfoy, who hadn't appeared to be paying attention at all.

She knew him, though. They were often partners on cases, and she had learned long ago that he never showed his true feelings outright. They would come out in ways that he clearly did not intend; in his side comments and observations that were far more revealing than even he realized. For example, the way that he paid special attention to her after work activities enough to casually ask about them the next day. It seemed to take a great deal of restraint for him to act so aloof… a restraint she'd become quite interested in breaking.

"All right, let's see," she said, rescanning the table. "I would avada-"

"No," Blaise said, in a warning tone. "You have to start with fuck, Granger. That's the order I've set, and as you know, I'm in charge." His hand was back over Neville's protesting mouth, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She wanted to save the best for last, but oh well. She'd roll with it.

"Fine!" she shouted, grabbing a handful of Ron's chips and chucking them at Blaise. He grabbed one out of the air and popped it in his mouth with ease, while the others landed on Neville's head.

She smiled and shook her head at him, then turned back to the group.

"I'd fuck Malfoy," she said casually, as if she were asking someone to pass the salt.

The table went into an uproar. Anthony and Seamus moved around to clap Malfoy on the back.

Hermione met his eyes briefly; he was now paying rapt attention. As though his facial features were embroiled in a civil war, he seemed to be struggling between continued aloofness and excitement.

"Is that so?" he said, a smirk flickering across his lips.

She nodded once, matter-of-factly, and then turned her head away quickly to say, "and I would marry Dean."

Dean stood up proudly, knocking into the table with his legs and causing a number of drinks to splatter over the wooden top.

"You heard her, ladies, grade A marriage material here," he announced to the bar at large.

"And!" she shouted over the din, "I would avada Harry."

The table erupted once again, and while everyone laughed and cheered, she chanced another glance at Malfoy. He was staring at her with a hungry look in his eye, his long fingers tracing a circle around the rim of his Firewhisky glass.

She had to hide her own satisfied smirk at having broken his wall.

"Fucking Malfoy was one thing, but now you're _really_ trying to be unpredictable for the sake of it, Hermione," said Harry.

"Do you want to hear my reason, then?"

A number of people, including Ginny, all shouted a variety of answers in the affirmative.

"Because no one has yet succeeded at it," she said simply.

More cheers and jeers.

"Wow, Hermione Granger wants to be the best at something. Extremely unpredictable, that is!" said Ron.

She stood from her seat, picked up his basket of chips, and plopped them right on his head like a hat.

"Need the loo!" she sang over the uproar she'd caused, and then disappeared around the corner.

She slipped into the Ladies's and stood in front of the sink, gazing at her reflection in the mirror and biting her lip. She didn't really need to use the toilet, so she washed her hands for something to do, realizing now just how hard her heart was pounding.

She'd finally done it. She hadn't planned to entice him that evening, but when the opportunity had presented itself, she'd taken it, and it had worked.

Would he follow her to the loo? He certainly wouldn't come inside. Perhaps he was waiting in the hall at that very moment.

The sexual tension between them had been building for so long, two years to be exact, that she couldn't quite believe there might be an end in sight. She splashed some cold water on her face to ward off the blush, and steeled herself as she moved to the door.

Pulling it open, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall, glancing both ways. No one was there.

Her heart sunk slightly, but no matter. She'd keep playing the game. It was a true game now, not just vague office flirtation.

When she returned to the table, she realized with a start that Malfoy was not there any longer. Taking a deep breath, she walked back to her place and sat down. Ron was up at the bar ordering more chips, and the game seemed to have ended when she'd left. She glanced around the table and noticed that Luna was staring at her, a knowing smile across her face.

"I think you scared him off," she said, and only Hermione heard her, as everyone else was too preoccupied with their own conversations.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her batty friend.

"I seriously doubt that."

Luna merely smirked and shrugged in response, then brought the little red straw of her cocktail to her lips and leaned in to join the conversation Pansy was in.

Hermione's mood worsened as the time went on, given that Malfoy never returned, and no one seemed to know where he'd gone.

Harry and Ginny offered to walk her to her flat, but she declined. She wanted a nice moody stroll through muggle London, even if it was only a few blocks.

When she reached home, she took the steps of her stoop two at a time, keen on getting into a hot bath to wash the disappointing night away.

Just as she turned her key, however, an all too familiar voice sounded from the small garden below.

"So what makes Thomas marriage material over me?"

Chills erupted over her entire body, and she swallowed with some difficulty. He was there. At her home. How long had he been there?

Furthermore, how many times had she imagined some scenario in which he came to her home? None of them had begun this way, however, so she had to hand it to the universe for creativity.

She walked over to the railing and gazed down at him, unable to hide her shite-eating-smirk.

"We're both muggle-born, for starters."

Malfoy scoffed, looking away with a shake of his head. "Ironic that being a pureblood would bite me in the arse in this particular way."

She leaned forward onto the railing, her smirk deepening.

"I had no idea you had any interest in marrying me, Malfoy."

"Never said I did," he replied stoically.

"Your presence here reveals otherwise."

"Perhaps I'll leave then... unless you're inviting me in."

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you want, Malfoy? To come in for some tea and a deeper discussion of just what exactly makes you non-marriage material?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, hopping up from the bench and ascending her stoop in the blink of an eye.

She spun around to face him as he reached the top stairs, and their chests were nearly touching.

They were both grinning now, keenly aware of what was about to happen, yet eager to keep pretending it wasn't. She stepped back towards the door without taking her eyes off him. When her back hit the door, she took in a sharp breath. Before she could spin around, he'd reached across her to turn the key that she'd left in the lock. The door opened and he pulled back, allowing her nose to graze his cheek along the way.

"After you," he said. She laughed to herself as she spun around to enter her flat.

He was right on her heels, almost literally, his chest pressed into her back as she walked toward the small kitchen at the back. She could feel the pads of his fingers lightly holding her hips.

When she reached the tea cupboard and began rummaging through the boxes, his lips came down onto her shoulder, her strategic strappy sundress making that bit of skin readily available. He didn't do anything more than drag his lips across, but she could feel how soft they were and how hot his breath was.

"Earl grey? English breakfast? Cham- ah!" she gasped as his teeth sank very lightly into the skin at her neck.

"You know what I like," he said darkly, and she removed the earl grey, shutting the cabinet just as his fingers hooked underneath the straps of her light blue dress. He ran them forward and back. Teasing them both.

"Show me how muggle-borns do it," he said, and she shivered once more at the feel of his breath on her neck.

She grabbed the kettle and brought it to the sink to fill it with water. As she did so, the pressure of his fingers on her waist heightened, and his lips were behind her ear. His tongue jutted out for the briefest of moments to lick the back of her earlobe, just as she lit the fire on the cooker. She yelped, and he growled, burying his face in the mane of hair he'd swept aside and breathing her in deeply.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of her own, leaning into him as she exhaled, and took care to sway her hips into his groin.

Knowing that he kept his wand in an arm holster, she had to conclude that that was not what she was feeling, poised and at the ready in his trousers.

"Now we wait for it to boil, and-"

Without warning, the kettle began to whistle loudly, making her jump. He took the opportunity to grip one arm tightly around her, his thumb now able to graze the bottom of her breast. She glanced down to see him artfully re-stow his wand in its sheath, and she removed the kettle from the heat.

"Hope you don't mind my speeding things up."

Ordinarily, she would have.

"What's next?" he said, as his hand moved up to take her breast, kneading her hungrily. His tongue dragged from her shoulder up to her earlobe again, which he took into his mouth.

Her breathing became ragged, and she could feel an incessant throb between her legs, but she was still intent on her task.

"P- pour," she managed to say, while he placed kisses down her jawline.

She grabbed the kettle before realizing she hadn't taken out mugs. It was at that moment that his hand slid down between her legs and began applying pressure in small, determined circles.

With a gasp, she said, "I need mugs," in a voice so high pitched it was a wonder it could be heard by the human ear.

He spun her around just as easily as if she were a rag doll, and took her chin in his hand.

"Are you sure you want to marry Thomas? Muggle-born things seem to take far too long."

On the last word, he pressed his hard length into her and she couldn't help but buck her hips into him with a small gasp.

"Are you making me an offer of marriage? That doesn't seem like something you'd do."

He released her chin and brought both hands up into her hair.

"I would do nearly anything for you to be mine... but you already knew that, didn't you?"

Her breath left her chest at his words and she realized that she could no longer feel her feet. Unwittingly, a stupid grin spread across her face.

"You've got me," she said.

He stared deeply into her eyes as he said, "funny... I find I don't much mind you outsmarting me. For once."

"It won't be the last," she said, as she pushed his hands away and jumped up to wrap her legs around him, holding on tightly at his neck. Their lips came together with a deep sense of purpose and conviction. Their kisses were frantic yet controlled, as if each one had been ordered off a menu and was being deliberately delivered to the plate.

He spun her around and placed her on the small kitchen table, which was a perfect height. He brought his lips down to her cleavage, placing kisses all along the line of her dress, and teasing with his tongue along the way. She undid all of the buttons of his shirt in rapid succession and had it off of him and onto the floor by the time he was unhooking her bra and peeling down the straps of her dress at long last. She could feel her own wetness dripping down her thigh, and she longed for him to return to his ministrations there.

His tongue played with her nipple while his other hand kneaded her breast, and teased at her hard peak with his thumb. Placing his whole mouth around her nipple, he moved his tongue rapidly back and forth over it, and she felt herself gush with warmth at the sensation.

"Fuck me," she whispered.

He looked up at her. "What was that?"

"Fuck me now. Please, Malfoy."

He leaned in, his eyes boring into hers for a long moment before he shoved his hand into her hair harshly and pulled her face to his.

"Say it again. Louder."

"Fuck me, Malfoy! Please fuck me," she shouted, then whimpered.

Before she knew it, he'd unzipped his trousers, pushed her lace thong aside, and shoved himself into her slick warmth. She lay back onto the table, and his hands came up to caress her breasts.

They both groaned with relief and need in equal measure; the shared buildup of their desire palpable and undeniable.

As he moved inside her, she moaned and muttered things even she couldn't decipher. Within moments, he was well and truly fucking her. Hard. Her back ground into the table, and she was sure it would splinter and break under the force if they kept at it.

He went faster, and she could feel herself coming undone already. Her lace thong had bunched up, and it was rubbing against her clit with each thrust.

"Harder. Faster," she panted, and he obliged without comment, his hands now digging into her waist rather painfully.

She did not mind.

"Oh fuck, Granger," he said, speeding up even more.

He tensed, and she knew he was coming when his thrusts slowed, but stiffened. She clenched her walls around him tightly and allowed herself to fall apart with him. The waves of her own orgasm crashed over her, just as he was coming down from his, and she mentally pleaded for him to hold on for just a few more thrusts. He did. Then he collapsed on top of her, both of them panting, sweat glistening on every area of exposed skin.

*Later that same evening*

They sat on the couch in her living room, each with a cup of early grey in hand.

"You live in a giant and terrifying manor, that I would undoubtedly need to be mistress of, which by the way, I refuse."

He scoffed. "That has nothing to do with my character. You can't fault me for being rich, it's not like I chose it."

She glared at him. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Does the poor little rich boy feel slighted for something he can't control? Honestly. I can't even imagine what it must be like to be ostracized and judged for something like that!"

She squealed as he grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, straddling him.

Both of their mugs of tea hit the floor, spilling all over her carpet in the process. He quickly unsheathed his wand and vanished both stains before taking her face in his hands.

"I will never be truly deserving of you," he said.

She smiled sadly at him, and gently brushed aside his silky blonde fringe.

"Well, I don't think that's true, but I appreciate the sentiment."

They stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes seemed locked together, as though there were nothing else in the world either would enjoy looking at.

"Shall we make more tea?" he asked.

She smiled and said, "lead the way."

Then, she climbed off of him, and once he stood, attached herself to his back as he made his way to the tea cupboard, the pads of her fingers gripping his waist ever so slightly.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading :)


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